


The Precipice of Change

by bluerose5



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Does this count as crack? Probably, Inquisitor Hawke (Dragon Age), Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Making This Up As I Go, Not Beta Read, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Fenris/Hawke (Dragon Age), Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), Rating May Change, Relationships to be determined, Rite of Tranquility, Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, Sort Of, Warrior Hawke (Dragon Age), flirty Hawke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26961307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluerose5/pseuds/bluerose5
Summary: The story of Dragon Age: Inquisition, as told if Garrett Hawke were to become the Inquisitor instead.There's nothing like being the Chosen One for a god that you don't really believe in, fighting to save a world that wants you dead eight out of the seven days of the week. But Hawke makes do. He always does.
Relationships: past Fenris/Male Hawke
Comments: 18
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for this. This is basically pure self-indulgence to write in my free time. I recently finished replaying DA2, and this idea won't leave me alone now, so here we are. I don't have much planned at the moment, but I wanted to go ahead and post a chapter to see if there's any interest in this sort of thing. I'm trying to think through a couple of possible ships for this fic, but I'm open to suggestions.
> 
> Either way, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> (Also, this first chapter is going to be using a lot of recycled dialogue from the game's introduction sequence to get things started, but I tried to change things up as much as reasonably possible in my opinion. Hopefully, when I get around to writing more, it'll differ more from canon.)

When Hawke decided to attend the Conclave, it had been out of his heart’s foolish sense of empathy for what Anders used to call “the mages’ plight.” Don’t get him wrong. Garrett wasn’t completely devoid of all sense and emotion. He actively supported mages’ freedom whenever possible, stood up for them over and over again when —for a while there— it seemed as if Kirkwall had nothing to offer beyond blood mages and abominations. Even if he hadn’t factored that in, it certainly wouldn’t do a long-term apostate any favors to support the templars, of all people, but the last thing he had signed up for was _this._

The last thing he remembered, he had been roaming around the Temple of Sacred Ashes, hood drawn close to conceal his face. He had been there under the guise of a Circle mage from one noble family or another. A random stranger had mistaken him for this Trevelyan lad from Ostwick, so Hawke had simply rolled with it, figuring that it was better than being recognized as the former Champion of Kirkwall. Not that his possible appearance was much of a secret, given that the Divine’s Right and Left Hands had specifically extended an invitation to him as one of the apostates’ “leaders” or what-have-you.

Still, one could never be too safe.

Anywho, here he was, roaming around the place, minding his own business…

Okay, maybe that was a lie. Hawke may or may not have heard about there being a cheese platter somewhere, and anyone that knew him would know that the mere possibility of there being one was enough to have him searching it out.

It was during his snooping that he came across… _something_ , and then his memory goes blank from there.

And now, here he was, waking up in some dark, dank prison. Hurray! It almost reminded him of all of his worst nightmares. Surely any moment now, some Knight-Lieutenant would come barging in with the brand in hand, all serious and dour and ominous looking. They would probably spit on him, call him a filthy apostate for good measure. Can’t forget a nice kick to the gut with those damn boots of theirs. There’s nothing like instilling a decent dose of fear in their bound and helpless captives before lobotomizing them, right? Might as well go the whole nine yards. After they’d have him all bruised and bloodied, then they’d finally follow through and position the brand, its heat radiating along the surface of his skin—

The door to his prison slammed open then, causing Hawke to jolt in shock. His eyes snapped open, but it was hard to see much without squinting into the darkness, his narrow-eyed gaze accompanied by a scowl.

Just as he was getting to the good part, too!

The first woman that strolled in wasn’t anyone familiar, but the second one had Hawke doing a double take. Mind you, her garb was a bit different from the last time they met, but he could hardly forget meeting such a legendary character from the Fifth Blight. What kind of Ferelden would he be, had he forgotten _the_ Leliana herself?

“Sister Nightingale?” he asked, head cocked to the side as he tried to get a glimpse under her hood. A single flash of torchlight upon her face was enough to confirm his suspicions, Hawke’s brain registering a second too late that the “torchlight” was suddenly green _and coming from his hand._ “Long time, no see. Lovely weather we’re having. How have you be—”

His ramblings were cut short when a mind-numbing, all-consuming pain lanced through his palm. It managed to do the impossible and shut him up for once, a sharp hiss replacing Hawke’s words as he tried to clutch his hand against his chest, only to have his manacles stop his hands in their tracks. He keeled over instead when he couldn’t find the relief he sought, curling in on himself with a breathless wheeze. Each flash of light was an assault on his nerves. It felt like lightning licking through his veins, brutal and relentless.

Muffled words poured in through his ears, but he couldn’t make out who was speaking nor what they were saying. Almost as if he was listening to them speak from underwater.

Just as the pain was becoming too much, black dots now clouding Hawke’s vision, the agony of the mark slowly started to recede. The green light disappeared, and the fire retreated back to his hand. It no longer engulfed his whole body, but simply radiated in his palm as a slow, aching throb.

Once Hawke was able to piece together some semblance of coherence, he gasped out for air. His entire body trembled and threatened to come apart at the seams, but having a sword suddenly pressed against his throat was like a bucket of ice-cold water to the face. He sputtered indignantly, golden brown eyes darting up to the Seeker’s sneering expression.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now,” she snapped, her patience apparently at its end.

Hawke’s head spun in confusion.

“I—” And because the man seemed to have a death wish, he just had to make a smartass comment, didn’t he? “Uh, because of my charming wit and stunning good looks?”

Might as well try for one of his signature smiles.

The second he grinned at her, though, the Seeker’s frown grew impossibly deeper.

Okay, that’s a ‘no’ to the signature smile then. Understandable. Its effects tend to vary, and this lady Seeker already came off as more sensible and sane than most of his former inner circle. Nice to know.

With a hand on her shoulder, Leliana stepped forward and gave her companion a pointed look, to which the Seeker responded with glare.

It took several moments for her to back down, but she eventually did, not without first scoffing at Hawke in disgust.

After she sheathed her weapon, both of them started to circle Hawke, predators waiting for the ideal moment to strike. It made Hawke tense up ever so slightly, his hackles raised and on edge.

“The Conclave is destroyed,” the Seeker continued, as if Hawke had never interrupted her. “Everyone who attended is dead, _except for you._ ”

Wait, what?

Staring up at her in bewilderment, Hawke gaped.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Could you repeat that back for me? Surely, I must’ve heard wrong.”

“I’m afraid that you heard her correctly, Champion,” Leliana stated, her voice deceptively calm, despite the icy layer to her gaze. “The Temple of Sacred Ashes went up in flames. Conveniently enough for you, you are its sole survivor.”

Hawke pursed his lips at what she was implying, but the Seeker interrupted him before he could defend himself.

“It wouldn’t be the first time that you were involved when a holy sanctuary was destroyed in an explosion.”

Okay, now _that_ was a low blow.

“Now, wait a damn minute,” Hawke spat.

The mark upon his hand decided that now was as good a time as any to make its presence known again, flaring bright green in response to his anger. Thankfully, the pain was slightly more manageable this time around with Hawke expecting it, but its mere appearance was enough to send the Seeker’s temper flaring as well.

Yanking at Hawke’s hand, her nails bit angrily into his palm, adding fuel to the already roaring flames.

“Explain _this,_ _”_ she snarled.

Snatching his hand back, he lifted his chin up in defiance as he stared her down.

“Yes, I’ll get right on that, explaining a mark that I know next to nothing about. If anything at all,” he deadpanned.

She took his shirt in hand and hauled him up to his feet until they were practically nose-to-nose, her brown eyes lit aflame with fury. Her hands were clenched tight into white-knuckled fists, Leliana having to step in once more.

“We need him, Cassandra.”

That was all she said on the matter, though. She didn’t even try to stop her as she did last time, lingering more in the shadows.

With a huff, Cassandra shoved Hawke back onto the ground, turning to Leliana with a scowl in place and her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Apparently, that was some sort of signal because Leliana took it upon herself to address Hawke again.

“You know what happened,” she accused. “How this all began…”

She trailed off, giving Hawke ample opportunity to fill in the blanks.

“If only I did,” he sighed, but he knew that such a lackluster answer wouldn’t help his case. “Listen, all I remember was that I was in the temple.” Come on, Hawke. _Think._ “Then next thing I know, something is, uh—” He wracked his memories for the details, only to fall short. “Something was chasing me? Oh, and there was a woman there too, I think!”

Leliana perked up at that.

“A woman?”

Hey, whatever worked.

Hawke nodded eagerly, scrambling for something — _anything_ — else regarding that fact.

“She reached out to me, but then—”

And just like that, the memory slipped. Damn it. Was this sort of what Fenris felt like all of those years ago?

No wonder why he didn’t want to sleep with Hawke again.

“Ugh,” Hawke grumbled, head falling forward in defeat.

Cassandra must have decided then that she had heard enough.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him to the rift.”

After the two exchanged a look, Leliana nodded and left. Cassandra took the opportunity then to drag Hawke back onto his feet, giving him little time to regain his footing before she hauled him off. In her haste, he stumbled over himself, but one sharp glare from her stopped his complaint in its tracks. Instead, he focused on staying in step with her, all while the gears started turning in his mind. He might not have ever met Cassandra before in person, but that doesn’t mean that he had never heard of her either.

After all, Varric had warned him that he had people searching for him, and how many Seekers were out there that went by the same name? Clearly not a coincidence.

Then again, when _doesn_ _’t_ Hawke have people after him?

Cassandra must have noticed his staring, eyeing him cautiously in return.

“What is it?”

Hawke really should start thinking before he speaks.

“Oh, I don’t know. From the way Varric described you, I imagined you would be taller, is all,” he chuckled.

The second her expression darkened, he knew that he had fucked up.

“From the way Varric described me?” she repeated slowly, scrunching her nose up at that. “Which means that he had written to you _after_ I took him in for questioning. What a fool I am. I should have known that the dwarf was still contacting you. He insisted that he had no clue where you were.”

Oh, great.

Varric was so going to kill him for this.

“Ah, yes, well you see—”

Usually, he was much better at bullshitting on the spot, but his mind was unfortunately too muddled and dazed at the moment to come up with anything even remotely believable.

“Ugh.” Cassandra rolled her eyes at him. “Save it, and come on.”

That was all that was said before she led him outside, the light blinding enough that Hawke flinched, staggering backwards before Cassandra righted him. As they strolled forward, the commotion outside fell silent, like the calm before a storm. All eyes in the surrounding area turned on them the moment the doors opened, many filled with sorrow, and many more filled with a burning, deep-seated rage. All of which was now directed at Hawke.

He didn’t care, though. His attention was focused on something else entirely. Namely, the massive tear in the sky.

“What is _that?_ _”_

The sheer surprise in his voice was impossible for even Cassandra to deny, her lips pursed in consideration as she turned to appraise the green, swirling vortex.

“We call it ‘the Breach.’ It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It is not the only such rift. Just the largest.” She took a deep, bracing breath. “All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“Seeker, I’ve seen the damage firsthand that an explosion could do to a city, and it wasn’t anywhere near this magnitude,” he stated, wondering what the hell kind of nightmare he stumbled upon in the Fade. “The amount of power that would be needed to tear open the Veil itself…”

As if his words had summoned its wrath, the Breach flared brightly, causing the mark to hiss and sputter angrily. White-hot pain shot through him, his words cut off with a gasp. His knees hit the ground, but he couldn’t even feel it compared to the wildfire consuming him from the inside-out.

His ears rang, and his vision blurred.

All sounds were drowned out like before, and it was only when the mark started to calm again that he was able to focus on what Cassandra was saying, kneeling in front of him with a hand upon his shoulder.

“—ch time the Breach expands, the mark spreads, and it _is_ killing you.”

Great, so not a dream then.

“It may be the key to stopping this,” Cassandra continued, “but there isn’t much time.”

Yeah, of course not. When is there ever?

“So that’s it, huh? The infamous Champion of Kirkwall, cleaning up everyone’s messes again?” Or causing a few more than they started out with. Cassandra’s expression remained unimpressed to say the least, causing Garrett to sigh. “Okay, yeah.”

The way hope lit up her face nauseated him, his hand suddenly feeling like a dead weight.

“You will help us then?” she asked, wary and hesitant.

“I’ll do what I can, Seeker. Whatever it takes.” Hawke nodded at her with a bleak smirk. “Although, I don’t share your confidence that this mark will do anything other than more harm.”

“And here I thought that the Champion would be more lively in person. Varric never told me you were so pessimistic,” she joked, helping him to his feet to guide him along.

“You’re only figuring out _now_ that Varric is an unreliable source?” Hawke asked. “If anything, though, the people who usually hurl insults at me would label me a hedonist, or perhaps they call me a heathen. It’s so hard to tell sometimes.”

“I can’t imagine why anyone would view your presence as anything less than charming,” Cassandra deadpanned, to which Hawke nodded eagerly in agreement.

“That’s what I keep saying! It’ll forever be a mystery to me.” It was then that he noticed the cold reception he was getting, surrounded on all sides by silent stares. “So… wonderful welcome party you have here.”

Cassandra was quick to jump to their defense on the matter, not that Hawke expected anything different.

“They have decided your guilt,” she explained. “They need it. The people mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and templars.”

“Perhaps the last chance,” Hawke said, his voice little more than a grave whisper. Cassandra nodded.

“She brought their leaders together, and now—” Her voice broke ever so slightly, but Hawke kindly kept quiet about it. If anyone could understand grief and loss, it was him. “—now they are dead.”

She swallowed thickly, standing taller as she schooled her expression back into its cool, calm, and collected mask. The time to mourn would come later, hopefully when the world was in less peril.

“We lash out like the sky,” she said, “but we must think beyond ourselves, as she did. Until the Breach is sealed.”

“And after that?” Hawke asked.

Cassandra paused, considering. “We shall see.”

Well, that was promising.

Once Hawke’s hands were unbound, Cassandra explained that they should test his mark out on something smaller than the Breach, which was fine by him considering that he was the one whose life was at risk. They were interrupted more than once on their trek forward by the mark’s sudden flare-ups, and Hawke could swear that he lost consciousness at one point, forcing Cassandra to practically drag him along at her side. He quickly came back to, but the mark was relentless, the pain worsening by the second.

The next time that Cassandra had to pick him up, he smiled apologetically in her direction.

“You know, I always admire a woman who can pull her own weight. And mine, in this case.”

Maker, he was rusty, but he tried to at least recover from his idiotic blunder by winking at her for good measure. She simply scoffed and shook her head in exasperation, rolling her eyes at his antics.

“If that was supposed to be flirtatious, then you failed. _Horribly,_ _”_ she stated, her expression giving nothing away beyond mere annoyance. “I would give you points for the effort, but even that was lacking.”

“My wounded pride,” Hawke sighed. “Perhaps I could—”

He was interrupted when debris from the Breach came crashing down in front of them, blasting right through the bridge they stood upon. Its foundation gave a loud groan of protest, stones crumbling one by one beneath their feet as they both fell to the icy path below them. The guards that were atop the bridge were sent down along with them. When the dust cleared, several were injured, and one of them had even died on impact, weapons scattered all along the ground as they yelled and tried to regroup.

Of course, fate just had a funny sense of humor because it was at that exact moment that demons started sprouting from the ground like daisies in the spring. The Breach was all but spewing them out without a care in the world, so Cassandra had definitely lost her marbles if she thought for a second that Garrett would follow her order to stay back.

Unfortunately, he didn’t really have a staff on hand, nor were there any spare lyrium potions lying around. Use of his magic would have to be scarce then, but he could make do.

Carver wasn’t the only one among the Hawke siblings that had learned how to use a sword. He was simply the only one that had perfected the skill. Malcolm’s knowledge might have consisted of mostly the basics, but it was still better than nothing, both Garrett and Bethany having learned out of necessity. Not only was it a handy defense for when their magic needed to be hidden, but it was also useful to know when faced with enemies who could dispel their abilities. In the end, though, Garrett guessed that it mattered little in Bethany’s case, but he refused to linger on that.

Right. Need to focus.

Scrambling across the ice, Hawke let his adrenaline flow freely, scooping up one of the swords and shields that had fallen in the soldiers’ wake. Right then, a shade manifested behind Cassandra, who was already busy battling with two others. Letting out a roar, Hawke rushed forward and knocked it down while it was distracted. It gave an indignant screech, which instantly grew louder when Hawke slashed at it with his blade. Blackened blood sprayed out from where he cut, but Hawke didn’t have time to consider it as he attacked the demon once again. Now and then, he would use some spells as needed for backup, but he stayed mindful of his pool of mana.

Soon enough, the demons all fell, one by one. The soldiers that could join them in the fray did so at the first opportunity, but many more still needed tending to.

Before Hawke could approach them, Cassandra was already in front of him, fire blazing in her eyes.

“Drop your weapon,” she snapped. “Now.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow at her, but he complied nonetheless, the sword and shield clattering to the ground as he waved his fingers at her.

“You know I’m a mage, right? Don’t really need a weapon to be dangerous, so far as everyone else is concerned.”

She sneered at him.

“Is that supposed to reassure me?”

He shrugged. “Well, no, but I haven’t used my magic on you yet.”

 _“Yet,”_ she repeated.

“Listen, are we really going to stand here and argue my horrible word choice all day, or are you going to let me heal your people so that we can continue on?”

“Heal them?” She blinked owlishly at that, as if trying to root out some ulterior motive hidden beneath his words.

“Well, yeah, not all of them took to the fall as gracefully as we did, Seeker.”

Which was saying something, considering how winded and disheveled they both were at the moment.

Eventually, after much appraisal on Cassandra’s end, she stepped aside. What mana Hawke did store was soon directed towards healing those around him. He was no Anders, by any means —thank the Maker for small miracles— but he knew enough healing spells to do some good.

Unfortunately, only a few actually accepted his help, so he didn’t have much to occupy him for long before he and Cassandra needed to head out.

By a surprising turn of events, she approached him after he was finished with the sword and shield that he had used earlier. When she offered it up to him, he hesitantly took it, wondering if this was some kind of trap.

Picking up on his suspicion, she huffed, arms crossed defensively over her chest.

“There were no mages among this lot, so we will be unable to procure you a staff for the rest of the journey. However, I cannot —in good conscience— leave you defenseless against demons, especially since you agreed to do this voluntarily.”

“Yeah, _voluntarily._ After you had me bound and gagged. Oh, and threatened me with death! Don’t forget that part.”

Cassandra sputtered, then paused, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Hold on a second. We did not have you gagged,” she protested, because obviously that was the worst accusation out of the three.

“Of course you did, and it was only when I broke free of my chains and escaped my dark, creepy, spider-infested prison that I looked upon all of this chaos around me—” Hawke swept his arms out around himself in a grandiose gesture. “—and decided to save you poor, unfortunate souls from mortal peril. Fighting through an entire demon army along the way, with the occasional dragon and ogre thrown in there for good measure, to reach the Breach!”

Cassandra gave a disgruntled sigh.

“I can see why you are friends with Varric, Champion.”

“Yeah, we _are_ pretty amazing, aren’t we?”

Shaking her head at him, even she couldn’t deny how the corner of her lips quirked up the slightest bit in amusement.

“Not the word that I would use.”

They continued on the path from there, their banter occasionally interrupted when demons popped up or the mark flared. It wasn’t too long until they finally arrived at one of the smaller rifts that Cassandra had described, Hawke perking up quite noticeably when he noticed a specific dwarf there. He had no idea who the bald elven mage was, but he figured he would find out soon enough, he and Cassandra joining the fight against some shades and wraiths.

“Hawke?!” Varric yelled out in shock, releasing a bolt into a nearby enemy. “That you, you bloody bastard?!”

“Ha!” Hawke laughed as he covered a shade in ice, only to break it into a million tiny pieces with a slice of his sword. “Do you know any other Champion that’s this devilishly handsome?”

“More fighting,” Cassandra huffed. “Less talking.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hawke teased, focusing in on the battle at hand.

Once the final demon was downed, the unnamed mage took ahold of Hawke’s hand without explanation, magic coursing through where their skin touched. It was… strange. Not unwelcome, but almost as if the elf’s magic was _guiding_ that from the mark.

Garrett really didn’t have time to consider it, his palm being thrust towards the rift before he could get a word out.

“Quickly! Before more come through!”

The resulting pain swelled inside him. It grew and grew, large and gluttonous, threatening to rip him apart at the seams. When Hawke prodded at the rift, it felt as if it prodded back, but something in that magic eventually gave way. It pulled and tugged at the edges of the rift, requiring Hawke’s full attention to get the edges to budge. Sweat beaded at his hairline, and his breaths soon escaped in labored gasps. But Hawke knew that, this time, failure wasn’t an option.

He didn’t know exactly how it happened. He didn’t know whether he pulled from the elf’s magic somehow or if the elf intentionally fed his magic into his, but something they did made the damn thing work. Like the last piece of a puzzle finally slipping into place.

With one final burst of energy, the mark snatched the edges together and sealed the rift closed. It was a patchy mess, but it got the job done nonetheless, the Veil scarred where the rift once was.

Tired and exhausted, Hawke didn’t even care how he dragged Mr. Elven-No-Name with him, his legs giving out as they both collapsed back into the snow.

The first one to break the newfound silence was Varric, as eloquent and timely as always.

“Well,” he panted, trying to catch his breath, “shit.”

 _And on that,_ Garrett thought as his eyes slipped closed, _we can agree._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave comments and let me know what you think! Thanks for reading! <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a couple of days off, so I continued writing. If there are any tags that I should probably add into the main ones, let me know, and I'll make sure to consider it. The only warnings I can think to give for this chapter would be for blood, injury, and minor background deaths.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the update!

The elven apostate could definitely give Cassandra a run for her money in terms of their supposed stoicism, so Hawke considered the slight quirk to his lips to be some kind of unspoken success. It was only a brief flash, however, there and gone before Hawke could even be certain that he saw it.

“An understandable reaction,” the stranger said, mostly referring to Varric’s response. “All things considered.”

Or perhaps he was referring to how Hawke dragged him down into the snow with him. Regardless, Hawke smirked at him through the pain, clenching and relaxing his hand in a rhythmic motion.

“Nothing like having such a handsome, mysterious stranger swoop in and bury you in cold, mushy snow to help us get acquainted, am I right?” Hawke joked, getting slowly to his feet.

When he held his hand out, Solas took it. Hawke helped him up, both of them brushing themselves off while they spoke.

“That is one way of putting it.” Solas regarded him cautiously, leaning his weight onto his staff. “Although, I would think that the end of the world would be a much more effective bonding experience, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oho!” Varric crowed, grinning widely. “Was that a _joke_ , Chuckles? Someone alert the Chantry.”

“Or in our case, don’t,” Hawke interrupted. “Turns out, it’s not good for an apostate’s health when the Chantry gets involved.”

“Surprise of all surprises,” Solas muttered.

Cassandra took the opportunity to get things back on track, pointedly clearing her throat. The three men before her turned towards her with sheepish expressions, caught up in their banter as they were.

“If you three are quite done, we must return to the task at hand,” she said, narrowing her eyes at them. “It’s not as if the fate of the world depends on us or anything.”

“Heh.” Hawke chuckled. “Could you imagine? Besides, I would say it depends more on the mark than anything else.”

“And you are the one that wields the mark,” Solas stated. “Therefore, it would only be logical to conclude that the fate of the world depends on _you_ and your actions.” He paused, once again regarding Hawke with that inscrutable gaze. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

“Or our destruction,” Hawke said, quick to backtrack when Cassandra glared at him. He held his hands up in surrender, and even took a step back for good measure, bumping into Varric. “I’m just saying, usually when I try to do good and act heroic, things tend to worsen and fall apart.”

“Can’t argue with you there,” Varric said, earning a pout from Hawke. “What?!”

Before they could dissolve into further bickering, Cassandra started shoving them all forward, herding them along in the direction of the Breach.

On their way, Solas decided to engage Hawke in conversation once more, curious about this infamous Champion.

“Apologies. I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself. My name is Solas.”

Hawke nodded at him in greeting. “Garrett Hawke, but most people call me Hawke. Like a nickname, or a title, I suppose.”

Or a little bit of both.

Solas smiled, his staff tapping softly through snow and ice alike.

“You are an apostate.” A statement, not a question.

“Yep,” Hawke answered, popping the ‘p.’ “And you are as well.”

“Hmm… and how can you tell?”

“The way you cast.” The “duh” was implied there in Hawke’s tone. “I would wager that you’ve never even been in a Circle. Lifelong apostates, even those that have remained hidden for quite some time, seem to have this raw, powerful style that looks as easy as breathing. Compared to that, Circle mages, even the former ones, seem to be more stilted and awkward with their forms. At least, in my opinion.” His smirk grew bitter. “The difference between embracing your power and trying to control and leash it, I assume. Or perhaps I am reading too much into it.”

Solas looked shocked by such an analysis, if anything. Meanwhile, Varric zoned out at the first hint of any magic-y talk, and Cassandra scowled throughout the whole ordeal, her eyes darting back and forth between the mages with a furrowed brow. As if they were part of some big, bad conspiracy.

Gotta love the distrust.

“I wouldn’t say you’re reading too much into it at all. That’s actually a rather perceptive take on it.”

“More than you were expecting, you mean,” Garrett said, taking some satisfaction in watching a bit of guilt mix in with his expression.

Solas shrugged, and Hawke knew that was probably all that he was going to get in terms of an apology.

“It’s a moot point anyways. At this time, _all_ mages are considered apostates.”

“True enough.”

Their conversation continued on, Hawke glad for any distraction that didn’t leave him ruminating over the pain in his hand for too long. They met several more groups of demons on their way, but they were noticeably quicker in dispatching them with four of them instead of two. Unfortunately, Hawke still had to stop every so often when the mark’s flaring threatened to tear him apart, eventually causing the veins in his arm to grow a menacing green. Like little spiderwebs, the light spread until it reached all the way up to his shoulder, Hawke’s eyes wide when he realized just how far the mark stretched in so little time.

When the others took notice, Solas grabbed him by his good arm, practically dragging him along.

Hawke had to admit, for both an elf and a mage, he was pretty strong.

“My magic will not be able to keep the mark under control for much longer. We must hurry,” Solas told him.

It was his frantic tone that made Varric rush to their side, eyeing the mark in concern.

“Be honest, Chuckles, worst case scenario…” Varric said, trailing off so that he could fill in the blanks.

Solas grimaced.

“Do you really want the answer to that question?”

Hawke and Varric exchanged a glance.

“No,” Varric sighed. “I guess not.”

Ah, so it seemed as if Cassandra wasn’t exaggerating about Hawke’s imminent death.

Why can’t anything about Hawke’s life be normal for once?

“So…” Hawke drawled, unable to stand all of this doom and gloom. “Solas, you seem to know a lot about the mark.”

After Solas and Varric explained how the elf stopped the mark from killing him, they encountered one last rift before finally — _finally_ — entering the forward camp. An argument could be heard from the gates, Leliana and some Chancellor engaged in a heated dispute once they arrived. To be honest, Hawke stopped listening as soon as the Chancellor threatened to throw him in chains, everyone going back and forth while he remained silently focused on the sky. It was impossible not to look at, that wide, yawning maw always in the corner of his periphery no matter where he looked. It swirled threateningly, growing larger and larger with each pulse of light.

How could anyone fix something like _that_?

It took Hawke a few moments to realize that everyone had grown silent, staring impatiently at him. He blinked owlishly at the sudden attention, wondering what in the world did he miss.

“What?” he asked, shuffling from foot to foot. “Do I have something in my teeth?”

Ignoring Varric’s snicker behind him, Hawke dug his tongue into the crevices between his teeth, causing the Chancellor to scowl.

“You honestly think _he_ is our savior?” Roderick snapped, addressing Cassandra instead of speaking directly to Hawke.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hawke stated, his expression serious yet innocent, despite the fact that he was anything but. “Were you saying something just now? From my experience with Chantry Brothers, I find it way easier to filter out all of their ramblings and simply nod along here and there. Nothing personal, mind you.”

Chancellor Roderick sputtered indignantly, but Cassandra stepped in before the situation could escalate.

“We were saying that we needed to decide on a way to get to the temple.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow at them. “And you were waiting on me, because…?”

“You have the mark,” Solas noted.

“And you are the one we must protect,” Cassandra added. “Since we cannot decide amongst ourselves…”

Oh, great. They wanted _him_ to lead, because of course they did. Now they were starting to sound like Anders.

How many times must Hawke tell people that he was not leadership material before they would believe him?

Ugh, well, if he must.

After they recounted his options again —the whole “should we charge or use the mountain path” debate— he simply stated what he thought was the most obvious solution.

“Why not just split up and meet back up at the temple?”

They stared at him blankly, making him wonder if he really did have something in his teeth this time.

“Explain,” Cassandra ordered.

How could he even think of refusing when she asked so nicely?

“I’m just saying that a small group could go investigate what happened with the missing scouts, and the rest of us could charge on ahead. That way, we hopefully save as many people as possible, _and_ we get me to the temple. Easy as pie,” Hawke explained.

“As idealistic as that may be,” Cassandra started, “the whole point of this plan is to get _you_ to the temple, not to rescue everyone. We should spare no resources in getting you ther—”

Hawke interrupted then.

“You asked for my opinion, and I gave it. If you don’t like it, then please feel free to waste more time we don’t have by trying to decide amongst yourselves.”

Of course, he kind of did waste some precious time himself by not listening before, but that’s not the point.

After considering it, Cassandra and the others agreed, despite Chancellor Roderick’s vehement protests.

Hawke may or may not have stuck his tongue out at him when they passed.

Splitting into two groups, the majority of the soldiers went with Leliana and Hawke in the charge forward. While they used the more direct approach, Cassandra, Varric, Solas, and a few others were going to be traveling indirectly through the mountain path. Both routes would eventually converge, and they would wait for one another at the Temple of Sacred Ashes before advancing in their final push. In a realistic world, losses were to be expected, but Garrett knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep soundly at night if he didn’t at least _try_ for the optimal outcome.

If he could even sleep at all, what with a deadly mark upon his hand that’s constantly trying to kill him.

As each group set out, Hawke forced himself to focus back on the here and now, using magic and his sword alike to lash out at the demons before them. The soldiers weren’t the most seasoned or experienced warriors out there, but they were enough to keep the corrupted spirits at bay. One wave after another, they fought, and eventually they happened upon another rift.

In the middle of this chaos, the last person that Hawke had expected to encounter was _Cullen Rutherford._

Huh, turns out it really is a small world after all.

There was a tense, awkward moment that followed when their eyes met, but it wasn’t anything like what one would hear in the stories. The world didn’t fade away around them. Time didn’t stop or slow to a standstill to allow them that one instance of recognition and animosity. Instead, the battle raged on, and the demons’ shrieks still tainted the air alongside the soldiers’ frantic yelling.

Turns out, the end of the world had a way of uniting even the most unlikely of allies.

When Hawke spotted a terror demon behind him, he didn’t hesitate. He _couldn_ _’t_ hesitate, lest he sentence the man to death right then and there. The air prickled with the smell of ozone, his hairs standing on end as goosebumps spread across his skin like a wildfire. A charged bolt of lightning shot through the demon, causing it to writhe and convulse until it burst open in a shower of blackened goo. Cullen tensed at the feeling of magic arcing past him, enough to avoid him entirely yet still too close for comfort. He refused to succumb to his discomfort, though, focusing instead on the fight at hand.

“Duck!” Cullen barked out, Hawke instantly dropping low enough for his sword to slash out at an approaching shade.

Turning on the demon, Hawke joined Cullen in his attack, running the damn thing through with his blade. Unfortunately, that only served to close the distance between Hawke and the shade, the demon lashing out with wickedly sharp claws. It managed to get in one good swipe at Hawke’s arm, bright red blood soon flowing freely.

Hawke released his grip on the sword and scurried backwards. That gave Cullen an opening to step in, decapitating it in one fell swoop.

With gritted teeth, Hawke decided that he had enough of this shit for one day, lifting up his hand to seal the rift as before. Weakened as they were by the sudden disconnect, the rest of the demons were soon defeated by the remaining soldiers. Leliana regrouped with Hawke and Cullen in the aftermath, helping to support Hawke’s weight.

Garrett managed a strained smile, holding his now-bleeding arm close to his chest.

“Anyone have a lyrium potion by chance?” When silence answered him, the former Champion gave a weary sigh. “Of course not.”

“Here, ser!” One brave soul rushed forward, digging around in their bag as they approached. The bandages they eventually pulled out weren’t the cleanest by any means, nor was the healing potion they provided the best quality; however, Hawke knew better than to complain. Beggars can’t be choosers after all, and many others out there needed the supplies just as much, if not more than him, so Hawke simply accepted the items with a mumbled “thanks.”

After he forced down the potion, he made quick work of wrapping his wounds, eyeing Cullen as he fixed himself up.

“You know, Knight-Captain—”

“ _Former_ Knight-Captain,” Cullen corrected, already exhausted by the conversation at hand.

“Right… So, _former_ Knight-Captain, didn’t expect to see you again.”

“Nor I you, Champion.”

“ _Former_ Champion,” Hawke mocked.

“Right. Apologies.” Cullen nodded at him stiffly, turning to include Leliana, who was watching the two of them in utter amusement. “Sister Nightingale, it’s good to see you in one piece.”

“And you as well, Commander,” she stated. “There have been many losses, but there would have been undoubtedly many more without the Champion and his mark.”

Cullen glanced down at Hawke’s glowing hand, his gaze quickly darting away when Hawke caught him staring.

“I assume that this was the missing piece we needed to close the rifts then.”

“And you would be assuming correctly,” Hawke said. “You would think that, after watching lyrium bring statues to life, I would be used to all of this strange shit happening to me.”

Cullen gave a sharp laugh at that, bleak and bitter. “And yet the world keeps surprising us.” He cleared his throat then, more so to cover up his sudden outburst. “I hope they’re right about your mark, though. Everything is riding on this.” No pressure. “The path ahead should be clear when you’re ready to head out. Hopefully, Lady Cassandra and the others will be awaiting your arrival.”

“We’ll depart now then,” Leliana told him, assisting Hawke in the direction of the Breach. “Give us time, Commander.”

“Maker watch over you,” Cullen muttered, and it took Hawke a full minute to realize that he was talking to _him._ “For all our sakes.”

Before Hawke could retort, they separated, Cullen and the soldiers heading out to set up a defensible position while Leliana shuffled them forward.

Once they made it to the temple, Hawke’s heart immediately sank into his stomach. Even Leliana could not hold back her reaction as they surveyed the damage, her voice a soft, broken whisper that was easily overtaken by the winds.

“Oh—Oh no…” she gasped, her eyes glazed over as she regarded one of the statue-like corpses nearby.

It was as if they were frozen in time, some of the bodies still burning as they tried to escape the blast.

And beyond that, the rest of the dead were unrecognizable, stripped of their flesh until nothing more than their bones laid covered in dust and ash.

Even Hawke didn’t have something witty to say at such a moment, all life drained from the surrounding area.

It was right then that they heard shuffling nearby, Hawke and Leliana rounding on the spot, poised to attack. They both breathed a collective sigh of relief when they spotted the others, Cassandra leading the remaining scouts to safety. When they regrouped, she recounted what had occurred on their journey there. Apparently, they had encountered a rift on their path as well. Some scouts had already perished by the time they arrived, but the rest had managed to hold out for just long enough. With their combined forces, they had slain enough demons to buy them some time between waves to beat a hasty retreat. A couple of the others succumbed to their injuries on the way to the temple, but the losses were still less than originally anticipated.

If anything, Garrett considered that a success, no matter how small.

After this whole shitshow, he had to claim his victories when he could.

Now that everyone was together again, they traveled forward in a solemn silence, the crackle of flames and the roar of the Breach the only sounds to accompany them.

While Leliana and Cassandra were busy giving orders to their people, Hawke surveyed the area around them. Varric made the occasional comment or two about the Breach, and Solas eventually interrupted all of them to explain how they could possibly close it. Something about closing the first rift that it created, or that was the theory, anyways. It was at least better than anything else they could think of, though, so it was worth a try. Best case scenario, the Breach would be sealed.

Then again, the worst case scenario was that Hawke would end up making an already catastrophic problem even worse, and then the whole fabric of the Veil would split open, causing the end of all life as they know it.

Oh, and he dies! That would be bad, too.

Why did he volunteer for this again?

Either way, he knew now as Cassandra escorted him through the ruins that he had missed his opportunity for escape. Any chance he had was long gone by now, so he might as well ride this out to the end.

_“Now is the hour of our victory.”_

Hawke stumbled in shock, Cassandra lunging forward to keep him from falling.

No, it couldn’t be. It _couldn_ _’t._ Hawke was surely going insane, that’s all.

_“Bring forth the sacrifice.”_

It had to be an illusion of the Fade. It _had_ to be.

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

“At a guess, the one who created the Breach,” Solas replied.

Okay, but if it was that Maker-forsaken magister, then surely Varric would recognize—

However, when Hawke glanced over at Varric for backup, the dwarf was preoccupied with another matter entirely, eyes wide and jaw slack. Hawke followed his gaze, only to shudder in revulsion. Without thinking, he shuffled closer into Cassandra’s side, trying to get as far away from the foul stuff as possible.

Red lyrium.

For fuck’s sake, this day was apparently the gift that kept on giving!

That voice forgotten for the moment, Varric followed Hawke’s lead and shifted away from the lyrium as much as he could, their teeth rattling at the discordant song that flowed through the air.

“You know that stuff is red lyrium, Seeker.”

She pursed her lips, but refused to be distracted from the task at hand.

“I see it, Varric.”

“But what’s it doing here?”

“Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the temp—”

Hawke didn’t even listen to the rest of Solas’s explanation, distracted by another voice entirely.

_“Keep the sacrifice still.”_

It was like it all came crashing down on him at once, a dam bursting open after years upon years of cracks splintering its foundations. Adrenaline surged through Hawke’s veins, giving him the strength and energy needed to slip free of Cassandra’s grasp. He took off into a run, not even stopping when the others called out. All he could focus on was that voice and that voice alone —that stupid, _blight-infested_ voice. It made his skin crawl even now, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. It shouldn’t be possible, but there was no mistaking it. He should be dead. Hawke had _killed_ him, yet there he was.

That voice was one of many that haunted his dreams. Hawke would know it anywhere.

_“I thank you for my freedom.”_

Larius. Larius wasn’t the same. He changed. He said it was because he was free of Corypheus’s influence, but no. Something never sat right with Hawke about that. He was too clear-headed for a man beyond his Calling. Too composed for someone that had been long overtaken by the Blight’s corruption.

Garrett didn’t get a chance to think any deeper about it. The second he dropped down towards the rift, they were all engulfed in a vision of the past. The Divine had called out to him, and when Garrett had burst into the room to save the day, Corypheus had ordered someone to “slay the Hawke.” No other information was given, and Hawke’s memories of the encounter still refused to return.

By the time the vision faded, Hawke’s head was spinning, and his stomach was churning. Cassandra demanded answers of him, but he couldn’t give them at the moment, those black and white dots returning to cloud his vision with a vengeance. Dazed and disoriented, Hawke had to force himself to piece together each word when Solas spoke up, addressing the need to open the rift in order to seal it properly. Hawke remembered nodding distantly, but the elven mage had to step in as he did before, his hand warm against Hawke’s as he guided the mark’s magic through the motions.

Of course, opening the rift just had to summon a pride demon, of all things. It couldn’t be something nice and small and easy to contend with, like a wraith.

Or a nug.

Oh, no, that would be too easy to defeat! The universe liked a _challenge_!

Well, screw the universe. How about that?

If Hawke were a religious man, he would have thought it to be divine punishment, since —at that exact moment— a damn shade spawned behind him and raked its claws down his back. One blast of fire to its face was enough to melt its ugly mug, but the damage had been done.

Red ribbons of blood trailed over his skin, hot and wet. They didn’t drip down into tiny, delicate droplets either. Rather, they stained the ground red in free flowing streams.

Pain radiated all around Hawke until he didn’t know which way was up or down, left or right…

All he could see was green.

But he couldn’t stop. It couldn’t end there.

With his hand outstretched towards the brightest patch of green, he managed to disrupt the rift in time, stunning the demons long enough for the killing blows to be made.

He heard her voice through the fog clouding his mind, unable to recall her name at the moment.

“Now!” the warrior yelled. “Seal the rift!”

The last thing Hawke remembered before he lost consciousness was an unbearable pain shooting up his arm, and then everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to let me know what you think, and thanks for reading! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke gets an offer that he can't refuse.
> 
> If only it was one that he was happy to accept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning that this chapter starts off more serious than the two previous ones, so apologies in advance for those who were expecting a more lighthearted chapter. Turns out that my Hawke might have more depth than expected. Who knew?
> 
> In all seriousness, I don't really know how to tag for this chapter, mostly because it involves the topic of Tranquility; therefore, if Tranquility or the offering of oneself up for Tranquility squicks you out, then I recommend skipping the memory sequence of this chapter. It is brought up in conversation, so I wanted to warn beforehand. Please, if I need to add additional tags, feel free to let me know so that I can properly warn any future readers that happen across this fic. Other than that, I guess that I will warn for Chantry bashing since Hawke doesn't really care for religion as an institution/system.
> 
> Otherwise, I hope you enjoy the update.

_“Something is bothering you.”_

_Is it? These days, Garrett felt like that was such an obvious truth, like it was more so his state of being at this point than anything else. It made the statement an unnecessary one. It was like stating that the grass was green, that the snow was white, or that the skies were blue._

_Garrett remained silent, staring into their campfire for a long time before responding._

_“I can’t be the only one,” he whispered, the fish that Fenris had caught and cooked for him remaining relatively untouched._

_It never failed to leave a sour taste in his mouth, asking others to do things for himself, but they had settled into their own little routine in the weeks following the explosion. Each day, they traded off on who would cook and who would set up camp. Some days, they lucked out and would happen across a small village where nobody knew them, taking to the local inn with weary bones and exhausted sighs, grateful for_ some _sense of normalcy amongst the chaos._

_And when they departed, the schedule would pick up where it left off._

_Still didn_ _’t stop Garrett's stomach from twisting with guilt._

_Tearing off a piece of flaky, white meat, Garrett hastily shoved it into his mouth, forcing it down after only a couple of bites. It settled like a rock in his gut, heavy and uncomfortable, but he knew that he had to eat something, if only to satisfy his body_ _’s need for energy._

_Fenris's stare bored into the side of his face, Garrett shifting under that intense, green stare._

_“Garrett…” Fenris trailed off, frowning at him in concern. “You’re not going to make me drag it out of you, are you?”_

_Fenris tried for a more joking tone, despite how it instantly fell flat._

_Shrugging, Garrett sighed, averting his gaze._

_“It’s just, after everything that happened, I spend most days reflecting on my years in Kirkwall. And as much as I want to run away from it, as much as I wish that I can ignore it—” Garrett clenched his hand into a fist, gritting his teeth. “—I can’t keep going on pretending to be_ normal _when I_ _’m not.”_

_“No one asked you to be ‘normal,’” Fenris retorted, slightly defensive._

_“I—” Garrett swallowed thickly. “Yeah, I know, but I’ve been told it enough.”_

_Even now, Garrett could recall Gamlen lashing out, ranting on after Leandra_ _’s death about how Garrett would have been better off had he been “normal” like Carver. In the aftermath of Quentin’s insanity, Garrett had been inclined to agree. Some of that self-hatred still lingered, but he was so tired —so very,_ very _tired— of living a life half-done. He didn_ _’t want power. He didn’t want influence. Hell, at this point, he didn’t even want the money._

_…_

_Okay, actually,_ some _money wouldn_ _’t be too bad, but it’s not like he wanted to be some self-absorbed noble that was swimming in it._

_At the end of the day, Garrett guessed that he simply wanted to be free. Free to live and love. Free to practice magic without having others watch him in fear and suspicion. He wanted to be able to travel the world. Not because he_ had _to, but because he genuinely wanted to. He wanted to enchant and excite, to perform wonders rather than using his magic only when he was engaged in battle._

_He wanted to see the day when the mages would take their place in the world. Neither above nor below the average person, but at their sides as equals._

_After what Anders had set into motion, the potential was there. They simply had to take a chance._

Garrett _had to take a chance._

_Back then, he had a feeling._

_He had a feeling that his and Fenris_ _’s goals for the future would eventually be what separated them. It was an inevitability —they both knew that— but it was one that Garrett tried for so long to ignore._

_“Did I ever tell you about what my studies revealed? About Kirkwall?”_

_Fenris was one of the few people that knew how intelligent Garrett truly was, a side of him that was often hidden beneath the endless cycle of sarcasm and wit. Of course, Fenris didn_ _’t realize the full extent for a while, not until they started their reading lessons together at the least._

_It was then that Fenris uncovered Garrett_ _’s hoard of research, papers collected and catalogued throughout his years in Kirkwall._

_One particular stack was titled_ _“The Enigma of Kirkwall,” studied in greater detail than all the others. Garrett had never opened up about it before, often growing distressed whenever Fenris did inquire about it._

_The fact that he brought it up on his own threw Fenris for a loop, hesitant yet curious._

_“No, but you already know that,” Fenris stated, cocking his head to the side. “What did you find?”_

_Garrett chuckled bitterly._

_“What didn’t I find?” he whispered, combing his fingers through his hair. His shoulders slumped in defeat. “The Veil… From the moment I stepped off the boat, something about Kirkwall felt_ off, _but I endured it. Didn_ _’t have much choice, really. Every day felt like I was walking on pins and needles, though. It confused me, to say the least. My connection to the Fade had always felt natural. I came into my magic younger than most, but my father was quick to teach me. And… I was eager to learn.”_

_Fenris listened, silent as he continued._

_“When I arrived in Kirkwall, however, there was nothing welcoming about the place. Not from a magical perspective, I mean. The Veil was worn down, and my connection to the Fade felt distorted. Every time I drew on my magic, it was like soaking myself in an oily sludge. It was impossible to get ‘clean,’ no matter what I did or how I cast my spells. Demons tried to prey on me every night, haunting my dreams…” Garrett took a deep, bracing breath. “Throughout all my years in Lothering, they were never_ that _active. It didn_ _’t get any better after—after Mother died. Most days, it was a struggle to keep going. I started to convince myself that maybe others were right. Perhaps it would be better if my magic didn’t exist. More days than not, I considered turning myself in to the templars to end it all.” He could practically feel the tension in the air, Fenris bristling at his side. “Tranquility was even starting to sound like a mercy.”_

_“Don’t,” Fenris snapped, startling Garrett as he stumbled to his feet, pacing back and forth with a snarl. “Just don’t.” He rounded on Garrett then, the latter unable to meet his wounded gaze. “Why didn’t you tell me?”_

_“What was I supposed to say?” Garrett asked, setting aside his meal. He then stood up as well, reaching out as Fenris passed to stop him in his tracks. “Was I supposed to tell you how I couldn’t even sleep anymore because, every time I closed my eyes, I feared that ‘tonight would be the night! Tonight would be the night when I finally prove every last one of them right and succumb to some demon because I’m too_ weak _to resist._ _’”_

_Fenris locked eyes with him, standing taller with a steely gaze._

_“You_ are not _weak._ _”_

_Garrett scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief._ _“I’m weaker than you give me credit for, than everyone gives me credit for. I’m no Champion. I’m no leader, and I’m definitely no hero.”_

_Taking Garrett_ _’s face between rough, calloused hands, Fenris cupped his cheeks, his thumbs tracing along the outline of his cheekbones in light strokes. Garrett’s eyes fluttered shut at the gentle warmth. His lips parted around a sigh, unable to keep from leaning further into his touch._

_With a small smile, Fenris rested his forehead against his._

_“You’re my hero,” he said, well-aware of how sappy he sounded. Garrett chuckled._

_“So cheesy,” he snickered. “But you’re your own hero, Fen. I simply supported you along the way.”_

_“Well, well, mark this day down in history. It’s rare for the Champion to be so humble.”_

_Garrett playfully punched Fenris in the shoulder, causing him to pout._

_“Ass,” he huffed, all too happy to kiss that pout away. Feeling Fenris melt against him was enough to have Garrett smiling into the kiss, savoring the brief moment of peace._

_Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. When their lips parted, Fenris buried himself into Garrett_ _’s arms, settling into his warm embrace._

_It wasn_ _’t long until that former tension returned, Fenris mumbling against his throat._

_“You do realize that we got off track, don’t you?”_

_Well, the moment of peace was fun while it lasted._

_“Yeah,” Garrett grumbled, “I realize.”_

_When he didn_ _’t elaborate, Fenris prodded, unable to let the conversation go unfinished._

_“What did you end up finding out? I assume that you had a point in going on about how miserable an experience Kirkwall was.”_

_After a hesitant pause, Garrett nodded, lips pursed._

_“Turns out, the magisters were dealing with some shady shit under the city, not that anyone should be surprised by that. But the—the city itself… It was designed how it was for a reason. The streets, the sewers, the alleyways. They were all designed in some sort of deliberate pattern, to contribute to the ‘greater purpose’ that the magisters had in mind. The scholars that studied the place theorized that it was to make the Veil thinner, to try and reach the Black City as they did before. Hundreds —maybe even thousands— of slaves went missing each year without a trace, sacrificed right under everyone’s noses.” He felt Fenris tense more and more with each passing word, soon running his fingers through snowy white hair in an attempt to calm him, futile as it may be. “The reason why Kirkwall has more mages that fail their Harrowing or succumb to blood magic? The reason why demons can contact and even possess non-mages with little effort? It all connects.”_

_“So are these people to have no blame in their crimes?” Fenris snapped, a slight tremor to his voice._

_Garrett knew that he meant the mages specifically, wincing as he released him and took a step back._

_“I’m not saying that people are completely blameless in what happens, but the context does matter. If this ‘enigma’ is true, then Kirkwall is a prime example of what happens without the Veil acting as a proper barrier between our world and the next. It doesn’t just affect mages, Fenris. It affects non-mages, too. The constant hate and conflict. The misery and dread. You can’t stand there and tell me that it doesn’t factor in somehow, that it doesn’t add fuel to the fire.”_

_Why Varric genuinely likes it there will always be the wonder of all wonders._

_Fenris, on the other hand, still didn_ _’t seem to buy into any of what Garrett was dishing out, scowling at his ramblings._

_“What did you mean earlier?” he asked, catching Garrett off guard by the sudden change in subject. “You said you couldn’t be ‘the only one.’”_

_Garrett grimaced, arms crossed tightly over his chest._

_“I-I don’t know. I guess that I was just thinking aloud.” When Fenris didn’t budge on the matter, Garrett sighed. “I meant it, as in, I couldn’t be the only sane mage out there that doesn’t use blood magic. Or that’s not under the influence of some demon or spirit, for that matter.”_

_Fenris raised an eyebrow at him._

_“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Garrett huffed, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Yes, okay? Yes, I doubt my fellow mages at times! Are you happy? Does it bring you joy to know that I will never feel completely comfortable in saying that they deserve freedom, all because of a few bad seeds?”_

_“Ha! A_ few? _I think Kirkwall had more than a few, Hawke,_ _” he retorted. “Even the First Enchanter—”_

_Ugh, it was like he hadn_ _’t even listened._

_And it was back to_ _‘Hawke’ now, was it? Fine._

_“Kirkwall,” Hawke interrupted, “is an_ outlier _, Fenris. I just explained this! The rest of the mages in Thedas don_ _’t deserve to be sentenced to imprisonment or death because of those idiotic mages in bloody Kirkwall, of all places!”_

_“You have too much faith in them.”_

_“And you have too little.”_

_They stared each other down, suddenly at an impasse._

_Hawke couldn_ _’t be the only one, and that was part of the problem. People always wanted to treat him as that “special one.” Mages, as a whole, were problematic in the average person’s eyes, but not Hawke. Oh no, Hawke was “special.” He was different than all the others._

_It shouldn_ _’t be like that. It shouldn’t be, but it was. Hawke wasn’t anything special, but the others refused to even consider that, to even consider that they might be wrong._

_Sad thing was, Hawke couldn_ _’t even blame them._

_Well, in Sebastian_ _’s case, hell yeah he could blame him. Him, and every other prick like him that let their precious Chantry guide their thinking rather than doing it for themselves._

_Those like Fenris, though, whose entire lives were affected by traumatic experiences with mages? It was near impossible to blame them for their stance, even as Hawke fought it every step of the way._

_He wasn_ _’t anything special. He and every other mage out there deserved to live a life free of the templar’s grasp._

_The words slipped out before he could properly think them through._

_“I want to join the rebellion.”_

Back aching and palm throbbing, Hawke jolted awake with a gasp, his heart pounding as he grasped at his bandaged chest. He darted up abruptly in bed, causing the young elven servant in the room to jump away from him with a startled shriek.

Glancing around the room in alarm, Hawke’s head spun uncontrollably, causing his stomach to heave in discomfort. The room seemed to tilt at an awkward angle, but his vision managed to correct itself in due time. Thankfully, the contents of his stomach remained where they were supposed to be, the nausea soon easing up.

Throat dry and lips parched, Hawke shuffled to the edge of his bed, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it.

“Water,” he pleaded, his voice raspy and thick. “Can you spare me some water, please?”

Thrown off guard by the request, the servant hurried to a nearby table where a pitcher laid, pouring him a glass before returning to his side. Hawke ignored the small cup entirely, taking the pitcher in hand before lifting it to his lips. The water was stale and lukewarm as he chugged it down, but it tasted like the freshest spring water in all of Thedas so far as he was concerned. He continued to gulp down one swallow after the next, unconcerned about the water that dribbled down his chin and over his chest.

Only when he had quenched his thirst did he pause to take a breath, gasping heavily for air.

Cautiously, the servant took the pitcher and returned it to the table, fidgeting nervously as they inched towards the door.

“I, uh—” They swallowed, fumbling with their fingers. “I’ll let Lady Cassandra know that you’ve awakened. She said to let her know at once!”

It took Hawke a moment for it to all come rushing back to him, his head pounding with each memory recovered.

“Ah, the Seeker.” He dragged his hand down his face with a grumble. “And where is she?”

When he stood up from the bed, the elf all but hurled themselves at the door, eyes wide in fear and awe.

“In the Ch-Chantry,” they stuttered. “With the Lord Chancellor. At once, she said. At once!”

“Hey, wait, what’s your na—”

Before Hawke could finish, the elf bolted, out of sight in the blink of an eye.

With a final shake of his head, Hawke searched around the room, eventually finding some clothes that were set aside, presumably for him. He didn’t want to know how they got his size down, but at least they didn’t outright insult him by giving him some Circle robes. Then again, the outfit they provided wasn’t anything special by any means —nothing more than a mere shirt and trousers— but that was honestly how he preferred it. Easier to blend in that way.

Not that it was going to be easy to blend in at all with a green mark on his hand.

Departing for the Chantry, Hawke stepped outside of the cabin’s door, gaping at the procession of people gathered before him. They all stared at him as if he was their savior, whispering to their companions as he passed by. Several people tossed around the title, “the Herald of Andraste,” which only served to add to his confusion.

Not even a few hours ago, they were calling for his head, but now he was their Chosen One?

What kind of insane alternate dimension did he step into?

By the time he arrived at the Chantry’s steps, he was completely and utterly done with this shit.

Strolling in as if he owned the place, he didn’t even bother to stop and listen to Cassandra bicker with the Chancellor. He marched right on into the room they were in, grumpy and exhausted.

“Hello, everyone! Nice weather we’re having. Hope I didn’t interrupt anything important,” he joked, glancing around at everyone in attendance. “Considering that I heard the Chancellor’s yapping more than anyone else’s, I’d wager that I didn’t.” Oh, now, _that_ left the Chancellor positively fuming, his face slowly turning red. Hawke continued on rambling anyways, acting completely oblivious. “You know, the welcoming party was _much_ better this time around. Glad to know that I didn’t almost get myself killed for nothi—”

Apparently the Chancellor had enough of his act, shoving a finger in his direction.

“Chain him. Chain him immediately,” he spat, glaring at the templars standing guard at the door. “I want him prepared for travel to the capitol for trial.”

“Disregard that,” Cassandra ordered, “and leave us.”

It was clear who held the authority in that situation, the templars backing out as soon as they were dismissed.

“You walk a dangerous line, _Seeker_ ,” Roderick said, sneering pointedly at her title.

Her responding glare turned downright menacing.

“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat,” she reminded him. “I _will not_ ignore it.”

Hawke clapped his hands dramatically, drawing the attention back onto himself.

“Oh, what’s this? A voice of reason? Finally! Now, we’re getting somewhere,” he said, delighting in how Roderick bristled. “So, what’s the plan?”

“The _plan_ is for you to be put on trial, and then justice will be served swiftly to put an end to this-this tomfoolery,” Roderick spat.

Huh, did people actually use that word unironically? Go figure.

“Yeah…” Hawke trailed off, drawing out the word. “No offense, Chancellor, but the last time Justice was around, he didn’t exactly side with the Chantry and its teachings.”

Perfect timing for that joke, right?

“Enough,” Cassandra snapped, her patience at its end. “The Breach is not the only threat that we face.”

Leliana stepped forward, speaking up in support. “ _Someone_ was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others—” Her gaze strayed towards Roderick, sharp and shrewd beyond compare. “—or have allies who yet live.”

Roderick gaped at the implication.

“ _Me?!_ You think that I am a suspect?”

“You,” Leliana confirmed, “and many others.”

“But not the priso—”

“It’s Corypheus.”

The room grew silent at Hawke’s declaration, all of them blinking owlishly in his direction.

Of course, that was a name that Cassandra knew all too well, her voice filled with shock.

“I—Excuse me, but surely I heard wrong,” she sputtered, but Hawke simply shook his head.

“’Fraid not, my dear Lady Seeker. That silhouette in the vision, that maniacal rambling… I’d know that voice anywhere,” he whispered, shrugging tersely. “Not that I’m opposed to Roderick being a suspect, mind you.” The Chancellor scowled once more. “After all, Corypheus had to have enlisted some sort of help to infiltrate the Conclave and take the Divine captive. He’s kind of hard to miss.”

Cassandra and Leliana exchanged a weighted glance.

“Perhaps we should summon the Commander and Josie,” Leliana suggested, to which Cassandra nodded in agreement. “They should be present for what comes next.”

What comes next?

Roderick gritted his teeth, apparently understanding the hidden meaning there more than he did.

“This is not for you to decide.”

In the silence that followed, Cassandra went and retrieved something beyond Hawke’s view, returning seconds later to slam a book down onto the table between them. She jabbed a finger into its cover, staring Roderick down with a clear challenge burning in her eyes.

“You know what this is, Chancellor?” Hawke didn’t know, but he was sure that Cassandra would tell them anyways. “This is a writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I now declare the Inquisition reborn.” She advanced on Roderick’s position as she spoke, and he cowered away all too easily, stumbling back when confronted by her iron will. “We will close the Breach, we will stop those responsible, and we will restore order with or without your approval.”

Clearly outnumbered, Roderick glanced around at them before leaving in a huff.

Leliana was the first to break the silence that followed, staring down at the book in front of her in awe.

“This is the Divine’s directive. Rebuild the Inquisition of old.” She traced the emblem emblazoned upon the cover. “Find those who will stand against a chaos.” She looked up then to meet Hawke’s eyes. “The question is, are you one of those people?”

Nice to know that they still doubted his intentions.

“I helped out already, didn’t I? Nearly sacrificed myself in the process, too, need I remind you?” When they exchanged another look, Hawke instantly grew suspicious. “What? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Cassandra straightened up, appraising him from head to toe.

“How much did Varric tell you of my interrogation?” she asked, confusing Hawke even more.

When she noticed him struggling, Leliana intervened.

“A better question would be, do you know _why_ we questioned him in the first place?”

Ah, _that_. Well, that’s easy. Varric said they were trying to seek him out, and—

Oh.

Oh, no.

“I—” Hawke gaped, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “You can’t be serious!”

“We are,” Cassandra stated. “You were always one of two candidates that we had in mind. It can only be through Divine Providence that you are here right now, right when we need you most.”

“Or it can be pure coincidence,” Hawke retorted. “How do you truly know that I didn’t cause the explosion?”

“Would you have risked such a stunt with Varric so close by?”

His silence was answer enough apparently, Leliana smirking at him.

“Ugh…” Hawke groaned, dragging a hand down his face again. He was getting too old for this shit. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” she asked in a sing-song voice.

“Act like you’ve already won!”

“Haven’t we?” she chuckled.

“No!”

What a liar he was, but of course _they_ didn’t need to know that.

Cassandra interrupted, stepping up to him with that Maker-forsaken hope swirling in her eyes.

“In times such as these, we need a leader now more than ever. We need an Inquisitor.”

She held her hand out to him, but he simply stared back at it, as if it was a snake just waiting to strike.

“I-I’m not leadership material.” He absolutely hated how weak and frightened he sounded, such a sharp contrast to how he usually was.

“You’re not? Or do you not allow yourself to be?” Leliana asked, earning a glare in response.

Damn her.

“This is a chance to make a difference. You might not think yourself capable, but that does not change the fact that you are,” Cassandra said, her declaration filled with the utmost confidence —a confidence that was difficult (if not impossible) to argue with. “Besides, you will not be in this alone. You will have us to help you as needed.”

They were really persistent, huh?

“Hawke,” Cassandra whispered, her hand still extended in offer. _“Please.”_

Balling his hand into a fist at his side, Hawke had to force it to relax, finger by finger.

He wanted nothing more than to ask for some time to think it over at least, but he knew deep down that they didn’t have time, not when the world was currently on fire. Demons were ravaging the lands of Thedas, and all Hawke could think about was his old companions. Were they safe? Were they fighting for their lives right now? What would they think about all of this mess?

But they weren’t here, were they? Besides Varric, it was only him —only Hawke— and that would have to be enough.

If nothing else, he could at least join up with this Inquisition to make the world a safer place for _them_. Not even taking into account that this was now officially his mess to clean up.

Corypheus had escaped him somehow, but he wouldn’t do it again.

Hawke would need as many resources as possible to track him down, and the Inquisition was probably his best bet at securing them.

It was with that in mind that he made his decision.

He took Cassandra’s hand in his, giving it a firm shake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to comment and let me know what you think. I'm still debating on any future pairings. As someone who multi-ships on occasion, I'm struggling with all of the potential dynamics between Hawke and the Inquisition characters, especially since I'm not afraid to write for the ones that aren't romance options in-game. That, and I'm open to poly ships too. Hopefully the dynamics will develop and come to me as the story progresses. I wouldn't even fully count Fenris out of the equation yet, despite the tags as of now.
> 
> Anyways, enough rambling from me. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me a while to update! Been lacking motivation lately because of stuff at work, but I finally got my energy back long enough to write this chapter. Hope you enjoy! <3

Damn it, what did Hawke get himself into?

That single thought looped through his mind on repeat. Leliana watched him in curiosity as he paced back and forth throughout the room, muttering to himself all the while. Cassandra had sent a messenger to summon Lady Josephine and Commander Cullen for a meeting, which didn’t exactly instill confidence in Hawke. For one, it made his current reality all the more real, Hawke not really comprehending how alone he felt until that moment. It would have probably been better had he been able to take a break and shoot the shit with Varric for a few before getting down to business, but of course he wasn’t that lucky.

Then there was the fact that he was expected to stand within punching distance of _Cullen_ and act civil for an extended period of time. Insanity.

Oh, the miseries he endured for the sake of the world.

Then again, it’s been _years_ since he and Cullen even interacted with one another. Perhaps he changed. He could’ve grown in that time. Perhaps Hawke should give him the benefit of the doubt.

Although, it would probably save him a lot of time and disappointment to simply start off with his expectations set low. That way, if the man did change for the better, it would come as a pleasant surprise.

He’s going to regret taking Cassandra up on her offer to be Inquisitor, isn’t he?

A few moments later, Hawke stopped in his tracks, everyone glancing up at once when the door opened to reveal the two advisors in question. Josephine strolled in with the utmost grace, her entire aura emitting patience and serenity. Whether it was genuine or not, Hawke would see in due time, having been around enough nobles and elite to know when they were putting on airs for the sake of it.

And then there was the lovely Commander, who was being very careful all of a sudden with avoiding eye contact with him. Was it out of guilt perhaps? If so, then good. Let Mr. Mages-Aren’t-People-And-I-Have-Divine-Right-To-Rule-Over-Them know what it feels like to be judged and scrutinized so intensely.

Hawke briefly wondered how flammable his stupidly perfect hair was at the moment. It never used to look so stylish back in Kirkwall. Did he change something about his morning routine? Maybe this was his ultimate form of self-care, something innocent and harmless to be vain over now that he could no longer get a kick out of his power trip as Knight-Captain. No more lauding his power over the mages, so he might as well find something to help him feel good about himself.

Okay, maybe that was a bit too much.

 _Maybe_ _…_

Cullen has said way worse, in Hawke’s defense.

Speaking of, it both delighted and amused Hawke to no end to watch the Commander shuffle about under his gaze, all too aware of the Champion staring at him.

If only Cullen knew that Hawke was more stuck on the thought of his hair care routine than the thought of sending a fireball into his face, then he’d probably relax for once. As Inquisitor and all, Hawke should probably try to put him at ease, given that they were going to work together from now on.

Nah.

Let him squirm a bit more. Surely, it won’t hurt.

Cassandra —Maker bless her soul— somehow managed to refrain from rolling her eyes at them both. She didn’t even make that disgusted noise that she usually does. That had to be a new record of some kind, especially considering who she was dealing with.

She cleared her throat, trying her best to ease the tension that blanketed the room.

“Champi—” Cassandra stopped short, correcting herself. _“Inquisitor,_ may I introduce Lady Josephine Montilyet of Antiva?”

Aw, how considerate, going with the safer option first.

Lady Montilyet gave a courteous nod, her smile warm and welcoming.

So far, so good.

“Pleased to meet you,” she greeted. “Varric’s tales about you are always so unbelievably grand.” Emphasis on _unbelievably._ “It is nice to finally put a face to the name.”

Hawke grinned.

“Whatever you’ve heard about me, I can guarantee it’s _usually_ true. And when it’s not, the reality was probably a thousand times more awesome in person than the stories could ever make it out to be.”

Leliana didn’t even try to hide her snort of amusement like Cullen did, the latter trying to disguise the noise behind a cough. Lady Josephine’s smile remained, more relaxed now than before.

This time, Cassandra didn’t even refrain from the eye roll, shaking her head at their antics.

And the fate of the world was in their hands? Maker help them all.

“And I believe you are already acquainted with Commander Cullen,” Cassandra continued, obviously wanting to be done with the formalities. “He is the leader of the Inquisition forces.”

“What’s left of them, at least,” he said, back to avoiding Hawke’s gaze. “The losses we sustained will set our progress back, but we will recover.”

“That’s… good to hear.” Gods above and below, this was awkward, Hawke uncertain how to respond to him as of now. “Not the losses part, but the recovery bit.”

Smooth, Hawke. Smooth.

“Did you rehearse that one beforehand? This is oh-so painful to listen to,” Leliana sighed, a playful jab at Hawke more so than genuine concern.

He narrowed his eyes at her, not trusting her responding grin in the slightest.

“You, _shush,_ ” he said, probably one of the few people in all of Thedas who could say that and not expect a knife in the back.

Then again, he wasn’t at all serious, and surely she knew this. Hopefully.

After all the parties and soirées that they attended together throughout his time as a noble, he would like to think that they developed some semblance of familiarity with one another. As close acquaintances, if not friends.

It was hard not to form a bond after spiking punch bowls together and setting a Chantry Brother’s pants on fire. By accident, of course.

Good times.

“Make me,” she retorted. If only she stuck her tongue out at him, then all would be right in the world.

“Ugh,” Cassandra groaned, “will you two please stop acting like children and focus?”

“Might be a little bit difficult for me,” Hawke chuckled.

“Only a little?” Josephine asked, causing Hawke to gape at her. He placed his hand upon his heart, feigning offense.

“Oh, my wounded pride!”

“Won’t be the only thing of yours that’s wounded if you keep this up,” Cassandra muttered.

“Well,” Hawke said, waving a hand pointedly along his frame, “this is what you asked for.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

How she got the words out between her gritted teeth would always be a mystery to Hawke, but luckily they had Lady Josephine to steer the meeting back on track.

“I am delighted to hear that you have accepted the offer of Inquisitor.” Yet she still retained that calm, collected composure. “You are one of few people in Thedas with the necessary skill and influence to maintain such a position.”

He was?

Oh, right. Gotta stay confident.

Of course he was ~~n~~ ~~’t~~!

“Ah, right. Nothing quite compares to the power and influence held by an apostate refugee that’s been on the run for the past few years. Not to mention that I have no title or holdings to my name anymore,” Hawke muttered. “Pretty sure we’ll be drowning in offers of riches and gold come tomorrow.”

Josephine pursed her lips.

“It is true that you face opposition, but opposition is to be expected at any stage when forming an organization. However, your name itself still carries some weight, especially among the rebel mages.”

“Whose help we will need when closing the Breach once and for all,” Leliana interjected.

And obviously, any mention of mages meant that the templars in attendance (former or current) should speak up on the matter in question. It’s not as if mages could think for themselves or anything. They could not possibly know themselves or their abilities better than the ones who seek to bind them. Oh, perish the blasphemous thought.

“And I still disagree,” Cullen said, chin raised in a defiant tilt. “The templars could work just as well.”

Even Cassandra grumbled, her patience wearing thin.

Maker, how often did they have this argument before Hawke arrived? He was almost tempted to go get snacks, his eyes darting between them, lit up like they usually were when he got to the juicy bits of one of Varric’s novels.

“We need _power_ , Commander. Enough magic poured into the mark could seal the Breach—”

“Or it could destroy us all.”

Hawke took some kind of sadistic satisfaction out of watching Cullen wilt _ever so slightly_ under the weight of the Seeker’s glare.

Serves him right.

“Not this again.” Leliana scoffed, shaking her head at them.

“We wouldn’t even have enough pull to contact the templars at this point,” Josephine fretted, “and our choice in Inquisitor certainly won’t help ease matters with the Order.”

“Some of them would still be willing to help,” Cullen insisted.

Question was, who was he trying to convince? Them or himself?

“Who is to say that the templars can even subdue that level of power? We have seen what the mark’s magic can do without even more power to back it up. If we had the mages, chances are that we could not only stabilize the Breach further, but we could also close it entirely. But what if the Breach’s magic proves too much for the templars? That is quite the gamble to take, Commander.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Sister Nightingale, but this is _all_ a huge gamble to take…”

The three advisors crumbled apart into a bickering mess. No longer was anyone listening, one person speaking over another until all of their words blended together. Hawke’s head started to pound simply from listening to them, their voices soon raised and faces slightly flushed. Eventually, Hawke was certain that even the passersby _outside_ of the Chantry were getting an earful of this shitshow.

Not exactly how they should perceive those in leadership positions.

Hawke caught Cassandra’s eye across the room. She raised her brow at him while the commotion raged on around them, as if to say _“Well?”_

Any other time, Hawke would have invited the chaos, but now wasn’t exactly the ideal time and place. He was exhausted, his head and hand hurt, and quite frankly he was tired of this shit.

Grumbling, Hawke stepped up to the table, his fist coming down hard onto the thick wood with a resounding _thunk._ The noise was loud enough to startle the advisors, who instantly fell silent in bewilderment.

Okay, alright, _ow_ _…_

Fucking Andraste’s tits, that hurt!

Thankfully, Hawke managed to keep his cool. The only shift in his already irritated expression was a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, holding back a howl of pain.

“Enough!” he snapped out instead. “We’re getting nothing accomplished by going around and around in circles like this. The Breach is stable for now. Let’s reconvene _after_ everyone has taken some time to get some space and calm down. Meeting dismissed. I’ll send for you all before the day’s end to conclude this discussion in a _civil_ manner.”

Before they could even think of responding, he marched around the table and right out the doors, sending them flying against the walls in his hurry to leave. They echoed throughout the Chantry with a bang, Cassandra hot on his heels the second he left.

Surprisingly enough, she didn’t disapprove in the slightest.

“Good job.”

Hawke frowned in her direction, rubbing at the soreness now radiating throughout his hand and arm. As if the mark hadn’t been enough without his theatrics coming into play.

“I didn’t do much of anything,” he grunted. “I’m only delaying the inevitable at this point. It’s all still going to boil down to a choice, isn’t it? After the Conclave, I don’t really see the templars and mages playing nice together any time soon.”

Cassandra pursed her lips, the bitter wind greeting them both the moment they stepped out into the cold. Fresh fallen snow crunched loudly under their feet, murmured conversations surrounding them from all sides as they forged through the camp.

“Perhaps,” Cassandra allowed, “but we did not make you Inquisitor to simply second guess you at every turn. Whatever you decide, we will follow.” She paused, considering. “Even the Commander.”

Hawke snorted. Yeah, right.

“Sorry if I don’t share your confidence on that matter,” he said, huffing when a few wayward strands of hair fell into his eyes. He combed his fingers through them, somehow managing to mess it up even more. “Although, Cullen is right.” He rushed to correct himself then. “To an extent, at least.”

“Oh?” While Hawke searched the nearby area for any sign of Varric, Cassandra continued to lead them on a walk towards the training grounds, their footsteps rustling through snow and dirt alike. “I have to admit, I am curious. What was it that he said that appealed to you? Your support of the mage rebellion is no hidden secret, after all.”

“Just because I support mages and their freedom doesn’t mean that I completely discount the danger that magic can pose.” Cassandra scrunched up her nose at his words, but ultimately remained silent. Hopefully, that was a sign for him to continue. Not like Hawke was going to wait around for anyone’s approval anyways. “It would be foolish to power up something that we barely understand, but we are limited in options here. I doubt anyone would be surprised if I were to cast my lot in with the mages, but we shouldn’t half-ass something like this either. I’m all for improvising and making it up as we go any other time, but this—” He chuckled nervously, shaking out his hand when it sputtered with green sparks. “I thought I saw all the trouble that there was to see in Kirkwall, but this is another magnitude entirely.”

“You can say that again,” Cassandra sighed, her shoulders drooping ever so slightly. Not enough to be detected at a distance, but enough so that Hawke could see it at close range. “What do you suggest then?”

“We try and find out whatever else we can about the mark with what limited time we have.” He smirked bitterly. “Isn’t it easier to be less afraid of something if we actually took the time to know more about it?”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes at him.

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

“Lady Cassandra, I have _no idea_ what you mean.”

“Uh-huh.”

They came to a halt at the main gates, listening to the clash of steel ring through the air as the Inquisition soldiers trained.

Boy, wasn’t that intimidating? Being in charge of actual, living, breathing soldiers. Knowing that their lives were in your hands, depending on your every choice…

Nope, no, not nerve-wracking at all.

Hawke was starting to despise his life choices that led him to this point. He should’ve skipped town to Rivain first chance he got. He could’ve waved his hands around a crystal ball, told fortunes for a living, but _no_ _…_ Hawke just had to stay and be responsible instead.

“Hey, do you mind if I come train with you later?” he asked. Caught off guard by the request, Cassandra looked at him as if he was insane.

“Train?”

He nodded.

“I could always go train with Cullen, too, I guess. I don’t know how open he would be to it, but it would be worth a shot to at least try and hone my skills with a blade. While we were on the run, Fen would—” His throat closed up abruptly, Hawke swallowing thickly as he averted his gaze. “Well, I had the occasional training session to maintain my skills. Now, I just feel rusty. My form was atrocious in that fight back there.”

Cassandra stared for a weighted moment, her brow eventually furrowed in confusion.

“Why train with the sword if you have magic?”

Now it was Hawke’s turn to stare at her as if _she_ was the crazy one.

“Maker, you lot really don’t understand how apostasy works, do you?” He laughed. “Before the rebellion, we couldn’t exactly go frolicking around, slicing open our palms and howling to the moon. We had to learn to rely on skills other than our magic, lest we wanted to end up in chains in the Gallows.”

“You can’t honestly tell me that you didn’t openly use magic in Kirkwall.”

“Well, I never said _that._ Seriously? You think I defeated the Arishok without it?” The thought alone was a scary one. “All I’m saying is that I didn’t exactly use it right off the boat from day one like Varric makes it out to be. Plus, magic can be dispelled, by both templars and mages alike. I’d rather be prepared for any situation in which I can’t use my abilities, _impressive as they are._ _”_

Shaking her head at that last comment, Cassandra carefully considered the request. She left him on edge for a few minutes until he started shifting and shuffling around, eventually nodding in acceptance.

“Yes, I will train with you,” she answered. She watched in amusement as Hawke gave a triumphant fist pump, followed by a sharp _whoop!_ “But be warned that I’m not the best teacher. I still think that you should ask the Commander to help you out as well.”

Hawke pretended to brush off the suggestion, giving a brief wave of his hand.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks again!” He turned on his heel to depart. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should go find our resident elven apostate if I want more information on the mark. See you later, Lady Cassandra.”

“Farewell, Inquisitor.”

Before long, he was out of sight, venturing back into camp. Adoring gazes and heated whispers followed him wherever he went, a direct contrast to the others who still regarded him with fear and suspicion. Of course, Hawke could understand and even empathize with all of their reactions, but that didn’t mean that he had to like it, refraining from scowling as he strolled deeper into camp.

There was one stop he had to make, though, before he approached Solas for more information.

It was no surprise at all to find his favorite dwarf in Haven’s local tavern, surrounded by fans and other customers who listened to his tales with the utmost attention.

As soon as he spotted Hawke, he perked up, his voice carrying loudly over the minstrel’s song.

“Hawke! There you are, you bastard,” he said, his laughter covering up the undertones of relief.

“Varric, my trusty dwarf,” Hawke greeted in turn. The crowd parted around him in awe. “I’ve been weeping every day without you at my side. It’s pathetic really.”

Plopping down into the empty chair at his side, Hawke groaned in relief when the tavern’s heat wrapped around him like a warm blanket. The crackling flames proved to be a welcome relief, offering refuge from the wintry cold that swirled around outside.

Varric grinned, his hand coming down onto Hawke’s shoulder as he called out across the room.

“Flissa! How ‘bout a drink for my favorite Champion?”

“So long as you make good on your payments,” she replied, humming along to Maryden’s tune.

“Aw, Fliss, you wound me!”

“He says, as he racks up a tab to shoulder off onto me,” Hawke said, flexing his hand over and over. “Ah, I can finally feel my fingers again! Would you look at that.”

“Do I even want to know what you mean by that?” Varric asked, thanking Flissa when she brought them over a couple of tankards of ale. “I really hope you mean because of the cold and snow.”

“Of course I do! I mean because of the snow,” Hawke stated, mumbling the next bit under his breath, “and not because I may or may not have gotten into a fight with a table.”

Varric sighed.

“I hope the table won in that case.”

“Hmph.” Hawke pouted at him, eyeing the ale out of habit. “I don’t know. It was too close to call.”

Thankfully, when Hawke took his first sip, the brew didn’t taste sour like it did at the Hanged Man. Nor did it stick to the roof of his mouth, lingering like an unwelcome nuisance. Funny how that works, being in a tavern that didn’t reek of stale piss and vomit. The place was actually respectable, no blood or questionable stains painting the surface of the table. No screams of agony out in the back alley, probably from some poor sod getting robbed and shanked for all that they’re worth. It was actually somewhat normal.

Well, as normal as it could be when the world was falling apart around them.

Hawke both cherished yet despised it.

He was brought out of his daze when Varric snapped his fingers in front of his face, Hawke flinching back a little.

“Hello!” Varric taunted. “Is Hawke still there?”

“Unfortunately,” he sighed, and something in his expression must’ve tipped Varric off because he scowled.

“Hey, did something happen in that meeting? I’ve been meaning to ask you, but—” His eyes strayed towards the other customers, ensuring that no one was listening, at least so far as appearances were concerned. After all, they’d be foolish to believe that everyone was actually minding their damn business for once. “Wanna take a walk?”

“No, I really don’t.” Hawke blew out a weary breath. “I’d rather stay here and relax with my drink in hand. I figure it’s not going to be a secret much longer anyways. Might as well get the rumors stirring. Make things interesting, you know?”

“Okay, now you’re scaring me,” Varric chuckled, despite his somber expression.

Glancing around, Hawke leaned in close, covering his mouth with his hand as he whispered.

“They asked me to be Inquisitor.”

Once he leaned back into his seat, he took a swig of his drink, Varric watching him skeptically. Whatever the dwarf saw in his expression, it must not have been pretty, given how his frown only deepened.

“Hawke…” He trailed off, hesitant. “Tell me you didn’t.”

If only he could.

Of course, being the mind reader that he was, Varric didn’t need Hawke to answer aloud to confirm his worst fears.

He smacked him on the shoulder, which only caused Hawke to mope and pout even more.

“Hey!”

“Don’t ‘hey!’ me, Hawke. I kept your location secret for so long so that you _wouldn_ _’t_ get dragged into this mess again.”

“I know,” Hawke groaned, burying his face into his hands.

“Do you?”

“Varric, come on. We both know that this is bigger than the both of us.” Hawke had to force himself to pry his hands away, but he managed it nonetheless. This was a conversation in which they needed to look each other in the eyes and be straight with each other for once. “We both know that I can’t just run away from _this._ We’re talking about the fate of the world, the fate of all of Thedas, at stake here. As much as I wish there was, there’s no way out of this. Not this time.”

It was as Fenris said long ago. There comes a time when one must stop running, when one must turn and face the tiger.

It was only horrible luck that, this time, the tiger shat demons out of the sky.

Details, details.

Regardless, the fact still stood. There was no outrunning something like the Breach. Hawke knew it, and Varric did too.

After considering their entire fucked up situation, Varric eventually relented.

“Shit,” he huffed, Hawke nodding in agreement.

“You can say that again.”

_“Shit.”_

Garrett smiled fondly.

“Nice effort, but try adding a little more ‘oomph’ this time.”

“Ass.” Varric crossed his arms over his chest, but the second that Garrett fell silent, he grew suspicious. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Must be something.”

Garrett fiddled with his fingers, picking underneath his fingernails.

“I have a favor to ask.”

“Yeah, no shit.” But Varric could never deny him anything. “You know I’m always willing to help, Hawke. If I can, at least.”

What Hawke said next definitely floored him though.

“I want you to contact the others.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feel free to let me know what you think!


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